Enlightenment
by Boston Manor
Summary: Holmes and Watson are melting in the heat of a hot summer's day. Holmes has been given a problem to consider by the Government, courtesy of Mycroft - and he's not happy. Please R&R. Might be a bit of a challenge, too ....


A real irritation of mine will become obvious by the end of this story. Maybe it irritates you too. Perhaps it does, or perhaps it does not - but enjoy the story anyway.

Usual disclaimers of course. All non-ACD characters are real people.

**Enlightenment**

I had grown used to all manner of people beating their way to the door of 221B Baker Street in the hope of enlightenment. My friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, had garnered an array of successes which meant that his time was in much demand. Apparently it had become quite _de rigour_ to have Mr Holmes working on your case – in some strange way it seemed to make the statement that you were someone, that you had 'arrived'.

Holmes loved it of course, even though on occasion the strain of a particularly difficult case would test both his temper and that of those around him.

There was one particular case however, which, I recall, baffled him completely. He has only now allowed me to release the details of his greatest failure to the wider world, as a stark warning that even the greatest among us – for so he is – can never quite know what the future holds. Looking back from forty years after the events, it seems amazing we were worried about the situation, but at the time it had become a real concern.

It was a hot summer's day in 1884. All the windows of 221B were flung open, yet the air was oppressive, hanging still in the heat. Not a breath of wind disturbed the leaves on the trees in the Square at the end of the road. We were sitting next to the window, Holmes trying to study a particularly involved document, whilst I was just wilting in the heat. In Afghanistan the heat had some dryness to it, but here the humidity made everything uncomfortable. In lesser company I may have divested myself of some layers of dress, but even as I was I was bordering on a state of indecency.

Holmes had had enough. He got up and threw the offending document out of the window, where it gently fluttered through the still air and came to rest on the pavement, directly beneath the window. He looked at me darkly.

"I do not appreciate unsolvable cases!" he exclaimed. "Not ever! And particularly not now... so uncomfortable..." He was already down to his shirt sleeves, and he tried to cool himself by mopping his forehead with his kerchief – which unfortunately being wringing wet with sweat only made matters worse.

"Unsolvable?" I queried.

"Unsolvable. It is admittedly an unusual commission, but all the same, what am I to do?"

"Her Majesty's Government obviously considers you well able to address the issue."

"The honour was not lost on me, Watson, believe me," he replied. "Great heavens, I believe this must be the hottest summer for years!" He picked up the jug of water from the table and summarily emptied the contents over his head. "That's better! Now, where was I ... yes, this problem. Her Majesty's Government have posed this question to the best brains in the land, and none have come to any conclusion – even Mycroft, which amazes me. He, however, suggested my name as being one of sufficient intelligence to form an opinion which would be of interest to them. I have a reputation, evidently, of investigating … of allowing my thinking to be drawn down pathways which others do not dare to travel. Hence my meagre successes. But, Watson ...." I could sense it coming, despite his self-deprecation. "It has me beaten!"

"Perhaps if you outlined the issue to me, I could help."

Holmes gave me one of his endearingly pitiful smiles – showing pity for me, of course, not for him. He was, however, quite gracious in his reply.

"Manure."

I coughed loudly, wishing I had the jug of water still to hand. After a full minute I found my voice again. "I beg your pardon?"

"Manure."

"I thought that's what you said. I wondered what I had done to deserve such an insult. I know it's hot, Holmes, but that's hitting a man a bit low, for even you."

"No, Watson. Manure is the problem. Her Majesty's Government is concerned about manure."

"Look, I'm really sorry, but we are talking about ... you know .."

"Oh, come, man!" exclaimed Holmes. "Yes, of course! I'm talking about horse droppings."

"You're going to have to explain the concern. I see none. Neither does Mrs Hudson's garden."

"Put simply..." He caught my eye and smiled, quickly. "The Government is concerned that with the growth of the population of London, and indeed other cities in this great land, and with the inexorable growth of transport thus required to service that population, that the capital will drown under a tide of manure arising from the horses thus used to move said goods, persons and chattels around the streets at the speed required."

I had to admit that the problem had never struck me in that way, and I told him so.

"There is also the health issue, Watson," he continued. "I am surprised that you have not expressed concerns over the matter from your professional viewpoint."

"It is true that given the heat the air is noisome," I replied. "But then in winter you have the fogs, so the metropolis is not the best place to be at any time, really. A necessary evil, perhaps."

Holmes walked to the window. "I dare you to come here and take a really deep breath."

"I won't if you don't mind. It affects me somewhat."

"Of course it affects you!" he exclaimed. "It's unnatural, and unhealthy."

"Well, what can be done, Holmes? We can't stop using horses, can we? There's nothing else."

"No, indeed, and that's what's beaten me," replied Holmes, not unbitterly. "I have looked at the problem from every conceivable angle, and I cannot see any way that the situation could be improved without bringing economic ruin upon us. We need to transport the goods we consume, and to do this speedily we need horses to move those goods around the streets – after all, we cannot have a railway in every street, can we?"

"Traction engines, Holmes. They should be the answer."

"No, Watson, you know that traction engines are too slow. The damage they cause to the roads is also problematic."

"What about these newfangled ideas from France – M. Trouvé's electric vehicle he exhibited at the International Exhibition of Electricity a couple of years ago, in Paris? Or even M. Lenoir's Hippomobile?"

Holmes' eyebrow raised slightly. "My dear Watson," he noted, "I see you are keeping up well with developments. I am most impressed. However, the Hippomobile only travelled nine miles in three hours before it exploded, and as regards Monsieur Trouvé - have you heard of what became of the invention?"

"No."

"Precisely. Obviously a dead end."

"Mr Benz in Germany has some interesting ideas, so I read."

"No, Watson, I am afraid it is inevitable that we will continue to pile the streets higher and higher with horse manure, until a major disaster makes this great city uninhabitable." He was getting a little worked up.

"Perhaps, Holmes," I replied, soothingly, "your time is best spent in pursuit of the criminal mind, rather than trying to set to rights the problems of the Empire. Have faith! I am sure that we will be rescued from the Armageddon you fear. The bright spark of invention continues to run through the minds of our greatest scientists, and leaps and bounds of progress are made every day."

Holmes looked at me, no longer with pity but with – almost – respect. "You really think that the problem will be solved?"

"I have every faith, Holmes. Think of the problems our forebears feared which today have been avoided. They couldn't see what was around the corner, so they could only think in terms of what they knew. Just look at how the railways have overtaken canals, so that we can now travel in a day a distance that used to take us a week." I stood up and took my place next to him by the window, looking out into the uncomfortable bustle of Baker Street. "You continue what you have been gifted to do, and leave the saving of the world to others."

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Less than two years after this conversation, of course, Mr Karl Benz patented his first automobile. Looking back it seems amazing to me that an all-consuming concern, exercising the highest brains in the land, could have disappeared so quickly. A lesson for us all, perhaps, when we are similarly faced with strident concerns about possible future problems. We do not know what is around the corner – but whatever comes, it will inevitably make our concerns, so pressing at the time, obsolete.


End file.
